A Crown of Thorns
by Khiori
Summary: Saavik makes a seeming betrayal in order to keep a black oath-bitterly knowing that it will ultimately force her to fight her own to keep it intact. (Revised, with Canon and my OC-set in Kerjen's run.)


She was the Security of the Exterior of the United Federation of Planets' Starfleet. Decades of clever strategy and grim victories had earned her the vicious hatred of powerful enemies. Many more years of unrelenting loyalty and immutable honor had won her the deep respect and unexpected alliances that gave her command far beyond Federation borders. A single murmured word of hers could impel scores of ships into the dark, a mere inclination of her head could set worlds aflame, and a scant glance could give her possession of incalculable wealth. Ironically, her continued demurral of such dominion only expanded it, her intense well-known mortification of that, in further sign of the universe's dark humor, only increased it farther. Yet, her single delight, her heart's quiet treasure, and her only true pride in triumph, remained, as ever it had, in her House.

Which was what made this all the more bitter.

 _What I have done . . . ._

She forced away the acid taste of emotion and took a deep weary breath. "Thuray?"

Her Andorian Aide didn't respond.

"Thuray."

He jolted; swallowing convulsively but still couldn't pry his horrified stare from what lay on her great carven desk amidst the piles of classified data crystals and the endless mountains of intelligence reports. "Yes . . . Exterior?" he managed hoarsely, one of his delicate antennae began spasmodically twisting into some form of demented spiral, a sign of his extreme distress.

She grieved for this.

Even while discovering that his agony was a perversely dark relief.

It meant that she would not bring a far greater suffering to Spock.

And that shamed her unmercifully.

Her hands shook and she forced them to be still. It took two tries before she could form the words that would continue the lie she had so bitterly begun months ago. "I require your oath."

Thuray finally managed to tear his horrified stare away from the bundle on her desk and stiffened, the shocked paleness of his blue skin now giving way to an indigo flush of righteous rage. His knuckles were deadly white around the hilt of his Clan blade and ever muscle in his body trembled from his losing effort to control himself. "Tell me the name," he ground out at last, his eyes pits of fire, "tell me who has done this to you and after I am finished with him, _I_ _will bring you what is left!_ "

Saavik grimaced terribly and could not meet his eyes anymore; her fingers worried the edge of her desk, tracing the carved lines over and over as if they were some ancient script which could save her from this. _This must be._ She clenched them tightly into fists. "Thuray—I . . . ." her jaw tightened painfully. "Thuray . . . ."

Most bitterly, indeed.

But it was far too late for her now. She was as bound in her oath as she was about to bind him. Sometimes doing the right thing left only damnation for everyone involved.

Her gaze unwillingly went to the bundle on her desk and then slowly softened in pity.

Even those it originally intended to save.

"Thuray," she swallowed hard, forcing herself to meet his eyes once more, "This was my choice."

The truth of it almost choked her.

His horrified rage gave way to something deeper, more powerful.

 _Betrayal._

Desperately, he had to grip the back of the nearest chair just to remain upright and the look on his face tore her already battered soul. "You—no, no, you _lie!_ "

And the truth of _that_ was pure darkest Romulan humor fit for Hellguard itself.

 _Forgive me, my Thuray. There is no other way._

She made her gaze refuse to waver. "I do not."

His ragged breathing filled her office. "No!" His fist lashed out and obliterated a fragile crystal vase, throwing the delicate emerald flowers to the decking where they lay like small drops of ravaged blood against the grey metal.

She felt a black ice freeze her heart and her gaze hardened into unreadable chill as it found what lay on her desk again.

" _You lie!_ " But this time there was wild pleading in it and she thought her already faltering courage would fail her entirely.

 _He has ever loved me and this . . . this . . . ._

Insult to dishonor.

Saavik could not look at him again. "I do not," she said so softly that it barely held the strength of a sigh.

The chair he had been bracing against smashed unbelievably loud against the far wall as his rage exploded. " _No!_ You would _not_ do this of your _choice!_ "

She flinched and the child startled wildly at last from exhausted sleep into frightful waking, suddenly confused and alarmed in the unfamiliar environment with the terrible sounds and chaotic emotions, and instantly the infant's high wailing keen rent the air and clawed desperately at the new icy walls of her heart for entrance.

Reflexively, Saavik turned her face away, instinctively trying to protect herself from her own pain.

A different shame burned her soul so viciously she thought it would surely be reduced to ash. Then memories like a scalding whirlwind rose up and Saavik knew a rage of her own with a sudden foul realization.

I am doing what my parents did.

Curses such as she had not used since childhood exploded into her mind, ugly and violent, and Saavik's lips pressed together so hard they whitened dangerously and very deliberately and so very gently she gathered the tiny bundle up. She stood and began to pace, trying to lull the child back into slumber with her movement. Her eyes were unreadable when she looked again at Thuray. "He has no need to know of this."

Thuray, to his honor and, perversely, her pride, looked like he was going to positively explode with incredulous outrage. " _How could he possibly miss it?!_ "

The child twisted agitatedly in her arms, the distraught wailing escalated louder into terrified screaming, and she gave him a brutal glare to lower his voice. "I refer to the _heritage_ of the child, _not the existence!_ " Her chin lifted. "The time frame is within convenience—as even you should well know. He will have no cause to perceive something amiss."

She had counted on this—the one thing some twisted aspect of the universe had actually lent her as a single saving possibility amid all the torment of this child's gestation. And ever a ruthless survivor, she would be _damned_ if she didn't take the _one_ chance she had to not _completely_ destroy her House.

The bitterness returned and her mouth curved in grim appreciation of the ugly humor of it.

As if a betrayal of one kind could somehow truly negate that of another to one who knew them both.

Thuray gripped his head, his teeth clenching so hard she feared for their structural integrity. "Are you completely _insane?_ Any genetic scan will _instantly_ show the child isn't _his!_ "

Her smile grew savage. She made battle plans for entire fleets, for empires and worlds without end. The battle plan for one small child, even one so destructive to her, had been nothing. "You forget, my Thuray, that genetic scans are only performed when there is a _question_ as to a child's parentage." She took a deep breath and turned and they locked eyes. "Do you truly think he will question _me?_ "

And just like that, Thuray's fury fell away and his proud shoulders sagged. "No," he said quietly, his voice husky with grief she knew all too well herself of late, "no, he would not think to question you."

It had been the final saving hope she had. The only thing that gave her the single chance to salvage what she could from her black oath. She had to look away to regain control and the child continued to wail uncomforted.

The very thought of Spock, of his eyes should he ever learn the truth . . . .

"So I have weighed all against." She shook her head weary almost to death of it all, of truth that was lie and lie that was truth. "And what," she said quietly, bitterly, "do you think of your _so honorable_ Exterior _now?_ " She lifted her head to meet his eyes flatly. "Give me your oath of silence on these things, Thuray. Do this and-" her voice caught and she made her face as stone, "—and I will release you of all other bonds." She lifted a cold eyebrow. "T'Lar herself would welcome your service or there are others of high place and-" she faltered here and had to inhale once to regain control, "—honorable state who would give you place. I will secure you to any whom you wish."

The Andorian's blue skin deepened impossibly darker than his earlier rage and his antennae stood stiffly proud. His white teeth flashed at her in a snarl. "I will give you my oath for you ask it. But do not ever speak again of releasing me or I will blood you for shaming me." His chin lifted and he flushed even more as he glared at her in old hurt. "My place is with you, honor or no. You know this already. Stop seeking to send me away."

And for the first time since all the horror began, Saavik truly felt like she might have some small shred of hope after all. _What I have done is safe then. He is safe. They are all safe now._

She wanted very much simply to laugh viciously in utter dark relief now but she feared more than it might turn to uncontrollable despairing weeping more than what it would do to what was left of her Vulcan propriety to his eyes. Instead, she bowed deeply to him, as a servant would to her noble. "You mistake my duty to you for my wish. I am in great debt to you for securing the-" the word tasted foul now and again she thought of her parents and felt rage at the twisting irony of the universe for making her all that more like them, "—honor of my House."

He flinched at the depth of her bow and colored even deeper. "Saavik!" He glared at her until she obeyed, her eyes glinting in open amusement at his affronted pride to be treated so by her whom he served. They looked at each other a long moment and then his eyes slowly brightened slyly and he fingered the hilt of his Clan blade. "Then-"

"No," she said firmly, a touch of true humor returning at his all too familiar stubbornness, "my debt will not extend to a name."

He scowled at her, displeased.

The child thrashed in her arms, and they both suddenly noticed the shrill pitiful screaming wails again.

Saavik looked sorrowfully down at the tiny clenching fists in her dark hair and then gently shifted the child around until it could nestle for consolation against the warm skin of her throat and she could tuck her chin protectively over the small head to further soothe the infant. She noted that the child's death grip on her hair eased somewhat immediately, though the little fingers did not untangle themselves, and the despairing wails gradually began to slow themselves to whimpers and then finally into exhausted quiet.

Thuray hesitated, then his jaw firmed and he deliberately bent to stroke the infant-soft ebony hair. "A female, I see." He straightened and cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable and yet determined to show her his loyalty. "What is her name?"

The bitterness and the rage returned suddenly and she struggled with the effort of control. "I have not named her," she said tightly.

I have been too much like those who bore me.

Thuray leaned closer to her, his eyes narrowing and intently studying her own a long suspicious moment before his widened in realized shock. "You . . . you have no bond with her."

Saavik flinched and looked away. Damn it. She had not yet had time to create one to cover the child further. She had to forge one before any Vulcan touched the child or all her careful construction would risk exposure. But she had waited. She had not wanted the first touch of her mind to the child to be one of grief and rage and forced duty. Once she had her full control again, she would forge their bond. Innocence should not suffer because of the dark deeds of others. She knew that grievingly all too well. She sighed and shook her head in wry pain. Trust Thuray to catch something missing so swiftly.

"You have no bond and _yet_ you say this child was your choice." He began to bristle again in suspicious protective anger. "Was your choice to take a lover or your choice to allow the child to exist from-" He choked, his eyes glinted in returning burning rage and his hand dropped down to the hilt of his blade.

She barely managed to control the betraying shiver. "You are being unduly idealistic. And far too late to take offense at such done to me—you forget my life." Absently, she held the child closer, some part of her seeking comfort from the horror of shameful memories.

A look of outright pain filled the Andorian's eyes and he looked away. "Forgive me for reminding-"

Saavik forced her chin up, drawing his mournful gaze again. "What is; is." She gently shifted the child again, this time to allow her to cradle it so she could look down into the small face. Little fingers reached and Saavik hesitated and then very cautiously, she leaned down and let them grip her nose a moment before she straightened up. Grief mingled with shame and anger. "We cannot always control what is done to us," she said hoarsely, "only our response to it."

And that was the absolute truth of the lie she now was forced to live.

"This child comes of my choice." She met Thuray's eyes unrelentingly. "The only harm to me of her is my honor." She sighed. "And that is of my own fault, not hers."

He slowly gave.

She took a deep ragged breath. "The mind cannot lie, Thuray." She looked at him and set another piece of their dark construct into place. "If I attempt a bond while my . . . emotions are not settled-"

Understanding crossed the Andorian's face. And compassion. Then alarm. "But when you and the Ambassador-"

Saavik swallowed, feeling sick at the thought. "I have kept all in . . . discretion." Her brows drew down in a scowl and she flicked a look at the great office doors she'd all but tossed her guards and other aides out of and code locked. "Word will spread quickly that I have a child. To keep my purpose, I must contact the House."

Thuray swallowed. "How will you explain, uh, explain the, ah, surprise?"

Saavik arched her eyebrow at him. "I have experienced four assassination attempts in the last year, have I not? Ambassador Spock has had seven. Logic suggests-"

Thuray nodded thoughtfully. "You went into a secure location for the duration of your pregnancy and birthing-"

"And a secure location can only be maintained if-"

"—it maintains security." He grinned in hard rue. "A by-the-book Standard Procedure."

Saavik was tired to her soul. And it had only just begun. "Of which I am well known to have tendencies towards."

The best lies are told with the truth. The best truths are told with the lie.

She flinched. _I sound my Romulan blood now._

Fortunately, Thuray was still locked into the problem she had turned him towards and his face was wrinkled in grimace. "They are going to be absolutely furious with you." He made a dark snort. "In an entirely Vulcan way, of course." Then his color drained. "And they will come."

Saavik stared down at the child in her arms. "It will still give me the time I need." Her face hardened.

It must.

The little one whimpered softly.

Saavik turned coolly and walked back to her desk. She laid the child with deliberate care atop it again and then began to unfasten her uniform jacket mechanically. "He will be last; our communications are extremely sporadic and often delayed by the death of the messenger." She scowled and began removing her jacket.

"That can be-what are you doing?" Thuray frowned in confusion, and then suddenly realized that she was preparing to nurse the child, and turned an astonishing deep indigo in a young man's utter mortification and looked away instantly. " _Exterior!_ "

Unexpectedly, the very innocence of the response eased her and she was able to gather the child up calmly and settle the infant to her breast with only the slightest of hesitancies this time.

She shook her head at the irony of performing so purely a natural action so utterly falsely. "Biology, Aide Thuray," she said quietly in complete truth, "is a tool of use. Nothing more."

 _And if you understood that, you would see the entire lie._

She felt a shamed relief in the knowledge that he would not.

She sighed wearily.

Not any more than the others would.

He cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. "Are you, ah-?"

She noted that he could hear her darkly amused snort when his blush deepened ferociously. She settled herself and then arched a dry eyebrow at him.

"It is safe now, O brave one."

He slid a carefully gauging glance to note that she had drawn the thermal blanket protectively over, and then made a stern face at her. "It is called modesty."

Her eyebrow arched high. "There is nothing immodest about tending a child."

 _Even one that is not actually your own._


End file.
